gather all the rebels now
by rachelisanerd
Summary: Artemis prides herself on her ability to keep her two lives separate. When it all comes crashing down around her, she must reunite with old teammates, reluctant friends, and new allies in order to pick up the pieces. But, even then, they're only scratching the surface. aka the museum au that a couple of you actually asked for (plot twist) / title from wild things by alessa


hey fam, season 3 has revived me in a way that i didn't think was possible anymore. this is my first chaptered fic in a minute, any pacing critiques are very welcomed. i can't tell if i've been looking at it too long or if it's been too long since i've written anything like this. anyways, enjoy, lovebuggs with two g's.

. . .

There must be some joke in the fact that a girl named Artemis was caring for a bronze cast of _the_ Artemis, nearly 2500 years after its creation.

Artemis examined the shaft of the bow carefully, looking for cracks or any new evidence of chemical wear. Then her eyes went to the statue's fingers, still grasping firmly onto its arrow, aimed and ready to kill. The statue embodied strength and grace, the femininity of metal.

Gallery rotations were those few hours a week in which Artemis could find solitude from her coworkers and the bureaucracy of the museum, responsible for nothing but the art in front of her. She found that this singular weight on her shoulders made her forget about everything else. It was as close to true peace as anyone like her could ever achieve.

"Artemis!" Violet, their office's intern for the summer, practically floated over to her the way in which she only walked on her toes.

So much for solitude.

Though, if Artemis was being honest, Violet was one of her favorite things about her job. Violet worked hard, listened well to directions, and had hilarious reactions to the English slang words Artemis tried to teach her. So, she smiled as Violet approached.

What followed Violet was not going to receive as pleasant of a reception. Behind her was a man, wearing a well-tailored suit and sunglasses indoors. Just the look of him screamed _donor,_ meaning that she had to be nice to him.

Also meaning she disliked him on principle.

"Meet, Mr. Richard Grayson," Violet introduced, "This is Artemis Crock, the conservator working on the Rhelasian art exhibition you were asking about."

"Just Dick is fine," he said, holding out his hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Crock."

Dusting her hand on her pant leg first, Artemis shook his hand, "Of course, how may I help you today?"

"I was hoping to get a little backstage preview of the exhibit before the opening tomorrow," he explained, "Bruce sent me personally to see how it was coming along and I heard that you're the one to talk to."

Right. Bruce. As in Bruce Wayne. As in Wayne Gallery. As in the current home to the exhibition she had put her blood, sweat, and tears into. No getting out of this one.

"That can certainly be arranged," Artemis attempted her best fake smile, "Violet, can you go finish up those examination reports and take the supply cart with you? You can be done for the day after that."

"Of course!" Violet grabbed the supply cart, filled with dustier and well-loved paintbrushes, "Bye!"

Artemis turned to Dick, "Follow me, please."

She led him down the museum's grand, marble staircase to the first floor, keeping herself a couple steps ahead of him. The Gotham Museum of Art was built in a classical style; clean, neutral walls, large windows that warmed the space with natural light. Groups of school kids ran around, eyes wide, laughing, while patrons, young and old, stared thoughtfully at the statues that surrounded the front entry.

"I apologize that you were sent on a wild goose chase to hunt me down," Artemis explained, "When I go out on gallery rotations, I go radio silent."

"Hardly; your intern knew exactly where to find you."

Artemis hummed, "Yeah, she good like that. And here we are," she scanned her badge at the door to the gallery and stepped aside to let him through.

"Wow," was all he said, and yeah, Artemis knew the feeling.

The Wayne Gallery was styled similarly to the rest of the museum. The crisp, white classical columns, marble floors, and high glass ceiling made Artemis feel like she was transported from the grimy streets of Gotham every time she entered the room.

The walls were lined with classical Rhelasian art that spanned nearly 500 years. Watercolors, ink drawings, small sculptures made of precious stones; the collection belonged to some Gotham Oil Tycoon before being donated to the museum upon his death roughly 5 years ago. The exhibition was the first time most of the collection had been displayed, and, even more significantly, the first major Rhelasian exhibition in the United States and Artemis helped put it together.

Yeah, it kinda made her feel like a badass. Not that she would tell anyone that.

Despite his initial outburst, Dick stayed silent for longer than Artemis was expecting as he took in the gallery. "Do you have any interest in Rhelasian art?" Artemis asked, hoping to make some sort of conversation to break the uncomfortable silence.

"Not really," Dick answered, "Truthfully, Bruce would have rather been here himself, it being his gallery and all. But he was… called away on business last night."

"Will he be back for the gala? I know there are a couple women in my office that would _love_ to get a photo with him."

"I don't think so, unfortunately," Dick looked around the perimeter of the room. Artemis watched as his eyes looked everywhere but the art. "The way we came in- is that they only entrance?"

"From the main gallery? Yes."

"So, you guys aren't worried about," he waved his hand, searching for the right word, "The flow of traffic?"

"The exhibition space and the gallery were designed specifically to avoid that," Artemis explained, "There's a natural flow to the space- something, I was told- that Mr. Wayne asked for personally during the design process. There is an emergency exit at the back of the gallery, as well."

Seemingly satisfied, Dick turned to one of the displays off to the side. Perched on top of the crisp white pedestal was a small, jade figurine of a dragon.

"What can you tell me about this artifact?"

"To be frank, not much, Mr. Grayson. Like most of the pieces in the collection, this one was in the possession of the benefactor's family for generations. There were no records as to the object's history prior to that." Artemis walked around the other side of the display. She tried not to be distracted by the way light shifted over the piece, "But, in Rhelasian culture, jade was believed to have healing powers, so it is possible that this was used in medicinal rituals or was given to someone as a gift to promote good health and a long life."

"Interesting." Dick's phone buzzed in his hand, "That's my cue. I've got to run. This has all been very fascinating. Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to give me this tour."

"Oh, are you sure?" Artemis tried not to sound too eager, "We've barely covered the exhibit."

"I'm sure the art isn't going to change before tomorrow night," Dick backed towards the entrance, "Until then, Ms. Crock." He disappeared through the gallery doors.

Artemis rolled her eyes, " _Dick._ "

. . .

The gallery opening was in full swing by the time Artemis arrived the following night.

As soon as she was in the hall, she grabbed a glass of champagne from the nearest waiter and slipped into the crowd. Lucky for Artemis, as assistant curator, her job for the night was to sip champagne and eavesdrop on the guests, to listen to what they had to say about the exhibition, the art, the experience of it all. Her boss was the one that was tasked with schmoozing the donors and giving the speech at the end of the night and that suited Artemis just fine. Speeches weren't exactly her specialty.

As the night progressed, Artemis would catch glimpses of Dick Grayson effortless charming his way through the crowds of women that drooled their way after him. Maybe he took after Bruce Wayne more than one would think.

Eventually, Artemis found herself back in front of her favorite painting. A female warrior painted from head to toe as brilliant red robes whipped around her. She was tasked with battling the sky in order to protect her people in the village down below. It was a rarity in Rhelasian art, to see women depicted in such a way. But it was beautiful, captivating, nonetheless.

Artemis tugged up on her strapless dress. Even though she liked the way the navy-blue fabric flowed around her as she walked, dresses were never her thing. She couldn't wait to get out of her, get into something more comfortable, and get on with her night.

"Champagne?"

Artemis turned to find an unfairly attractive man offering her a glass.

Under any other circumstance, Artemis wouldn't accept a drink from a stranger, even one as handsome and wearing a suit as well as he was. She looked him up and down, she could take him.

"Thank you," she took the champagne from his hand.

"So, uh, what brings you to a place like this?"

Artemis snorted, that was his line? "I work at the museum. I helped put this exhibition together, actually."

"Really?" he seemed genuinely impressed, "This is really incredible. I mean, I know absolutely nothing about art- let alone Rhelasian art. I'm a scientist, art doesn't really make sense to me. Numbers, theories, chemical equations, I'm far more comfortable with that… stuff," he finished lamely. Artemis couldn't help but smile. It was kinda adorable to see the look of sheer horror on his face when he realized he was rambling to her.

"I could tell you," Artemis offered, "About the art. I'm a conservator, my job is pretty much where science meets art."

He smiled. He had a very cute smile, Artemis decided.

"That would be awesome. I like learning. I'm Wally, by the way," he extended his hand. Artemis tried (failed) to ignore the warmth that radiated from their enclosed hands as the shook.

"Artemis."

"Alright then, Artemis, what am I looking at?"

. . .

Wally stayed by her side most of the night.

When she implied that he surely must have something better to do than to listen to her ramble about a niche art movement from over 1500 years ago, he simply replied that his buddy he came with ditched him for a pretty girl earlier in the night so he might as well return the favor. Artemis tried (failed- again) to keep her cheeks from flushing bright red at his comments.

Maybe she would ask him for his number. She could totally do that because she looked hot in this dress, right? Who would say no to this? To her? No one.

Right?

"Hey, Wally, I was just wondering…" she grabbed her phone out of her clutch and that was when all hell broke loose. Well- more specifically- broke through the ceiling.

"Artemis!"

In the blink of an eye, Wally was on top of her, covering her from the falling glass. From beneath his arm, Artemis watched as five masked figures landed in the center of the gallery, pulling guns out on the patrons.

"Grab the idol," one of the intruders commanded. "Take down anyone who gets in your way."

The voice was feminine, husky. Artemis knew that voice, she knew-

"Artemis, you need to get out of here," Wally urged, picking her up from the ground, blocking her with his body, "Go!" He pushed her into the chaos of the crowd.

Tripping over her dress, she stumbled into the stampede that was heading towards the exit. Shots fired, screams echoed. Artemis had never felt such palpable helpless.

But she wasn't helpless, she didn't need to get out, she needed to get up.

Cutting through the stampede, Artemis lost sight of Wally, but she couldn't dwell on that now. She needed to get upstairs, to her office, to her desk. Instead of running towards the doors, she went up the stairs, taking the steps two by two. Why did this job always end with her running through the museum in her heels? This was seriously getting ridiculous.

By the time she reached her desk, the screams had faded away and were replaced by her heart pounding in her ears. She grabbed what she needed, ditched her heels, and was about to make her way back downstairs when she heard a faint whimper coming from the break room. She looked towards the door- she had priorities- but another whimper echoed through the quiet.

Artemis dropped her head, "Fuck."

Cautiously, she walked down towards the break room.

There was Violet, hiding underneath the table, hugging her legs to her chest, and crying softly.

"Violet?" Artemis asked, "What are you doing here?"

Startled by Artemis' voice, Violet jumped, banging her head against the underneath of the able. Violet scrambled out from her hiding spot and threw herself into Artemis' arms.

"Artemis!" Violet sobbed, "I was so scared! I was downstairs and then- "

"Hey, you did the right thing. You're safe now. I'm going to get you out of here. Okay?"

Violet whipped her tears, "Okay."

. . .

The museum was silent as they exited the third-floor offices until they reached the top of the museum's grand staircase. Artemis could hear the sirens outside and the distant chatter of the police searching the building. The last thing she needed right now was to explain why she and her intern weren't outside with the rest of the party-goers to the police.

"This way," she whispered, pulling Violet down another corridor that was roped off to the public. There was an emergency evacuation route around the corner and Artemis figured that this situation was about as good a time as any to use it.

"This is so your fault!"

Artemis froze causing Violet to bump into the back of her. She turned to her intern and brought her finger to her lips. Violet nodded, understanding.

"How is this my fault? You were the one making goo-goo eyes at the conservator all night!"

"What! That- it was part of the gig. Your intel was bad, just admit it."

Artemis pushed Violet back against the wall away from the corner, away from the voices. "Stay here," Artemis ordered. Violet nodded.

Turning away from Violet, Artemis pulled her crossbow from where she had attached it under her dress and cocked it.

"Did you have that this whole time?" Violet whispered, panicked.

Artemis ignored her, instead focusing on the conversation that was happening. She needed them distracted, so wrapped up in their conversation that they would never see her coming.

Artemis took a breath, focusing herself. She turned the corner, crossbow held high, legs firmly planted.

"Don't move," she pronounced.

Truth be told, Artemis didn't know what she was expecting to see. A couple thieves bickering? Probably. Some stolen art? Hopefully. But this- this was the cherry on top for a genuinely bizarre night.

Nightwing was facing her, a look of shock and horror etched on his face. The person he was arguing with had his back to Artemis, but she knew that stupid ass in its stupid red spandex anywhere, having kicked it enough times. But his cowl was pushed back, revealing a messy head of brilliant red hair, and, as he turned to face her, a splattering of freckles and bright green eyes-

Her hold on her crossbow didn't falter, "Wally?"

. . .

yeah, i did that. catch me on tumblr rachelisanerd for a sneak preview before next week's part.


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